


Fire in Pompeii

by thegremlin69



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Celts, F/M, Gladiators, Kidfic, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Pompeii, Porn With Plot, Prostitution, Rome - Freeform, more tags to be added as l go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1354861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegremlin69/pseuds/thegremlin69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celtic Chief Stilinski is overrun by the Romans. His son is taken to be a prostitute in Rome. What trouble can one Stiles Stilinski get into when a prostitute let loose in Rome and Pompeii?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The day was dark, a foreboding message of bad things to come from the gods. Though not a particularly suspicious man, his people were and the Chief of Beacon did and believed what was necessary to protect his relatively large and happy tribe. In this time of conflict with the Romans, one could never be too sure about the dangers lurking around the corner so it was best to be safe than sorry.

At only 40 years of age, Chief John of Stilinski was a man in his prime, both physically and mentally. His fathers had grown and protected this tribe of approximately 200 for centuries, and one day he will teach his son to lead as his father had taught him. Though unmarried due to the death of his wife 3 years ago from fever after a miscarriage, the Chief was the centre of many of the tribeswomen’s desire due to his muscular body, chiselled features and striking blue eyes. The same eyes his son had inherited, though they glowed in the night with intelligence and youth even in his young age.

His 5 year old son was yet to rise from his cot made of furs, only the best for the son of the most powerful freeman and Chieftain of one of many Celtic tribes north of the Roman town Londinium. The sacrifices he had made for his son and when he would be chieftain, John worked hard to ensure the future of his people because he had heard the stories of people that had gone missing at the hands of the villainous Romans.

All seemed to be well as the chief made his inspection rounds and prepared for the harvest that was soon to come. Last year’s harvest had been less than successful but though no one died, the starvation felt by his people was something that he did not want to repeat. As he was checking on an infant that had been recently saved from death by the tribe healer Deaton, Chieftain John felt the ground beneath his bare feet shake and vibrate; he knew that something dangerous was coming.

The neighing of stampeding horses could be felt in his bones and the Chief knew he had to act fast to defend against the roman cavalry that was coming for the death of his people.

“Romans!” the Chief shouted as he and many now alerted men ran to arm themselves with sharp swords and strong shields. The first wave of horses tore through the hutch houses of his people, slaying and crushing any person or object in their way. This was no battle, the Chief thought as he watched men, women and children fall dead around him, this is a massacre.

Fighting his way across the swarms of armoured and mounted Romans that were now buzzing around his camp ground like a swarm of bees, the Chief fought his way to his large and opulent tent where he knew his tiny and defenceless son was; he needed to get his son out. A large billow of smoke was rising above the other wooden huts and John realised with dread in his stomach that the smoke was coming from the location of his hut. His hut that was on fire and _his son was inside._

Cutting down two Romans that were fighting on foot, the Chief emerge to stand in front of his hut but aback enough so that the hot and weaving flames couldn’t reach his bare skin. Almost burnt to the ground, the hut was gone and anyone that was inside was dead. The noises around John slowly ceased and he thought it was due to his shock. However, he soon realised the quiet was due to the voices that had been violently stopped or where now gagged on their knees.

The crowd of his people that were bound and silent where gathered in a neat line behind him and were watching to see what their leader would do as the Roman legati Augusti legionis, known as the legionary commander in the common tongue, of this unit stepped towards him with his sword raised threateningly.

“Do you yield Chief?” Knowing that this mercy was not granted twice and to all surviving commanders of the enemy, the Chieftain threw down his heavy and sharp sword in defeat; his son was dead and now he was just one of the people. There was nothing that the Romans could do now that would break him anymore.

Quickly bound and gagged, the Chief was placed in the line, undisguisable from the others except for the blood freezing misery that was etched onto his face. In his guilt, the Chief though he could still hear his son’s complaining.

Startling, and maddeningly, that complaining voice got louder and louder and seemed to be coming from the small body held tightly between the two Roman soldiers to keep it from wriggling. The wriggling and voice got stronger and louder until silenced by one hard smack from the legatus.

That couldn’t be his dead son back to haunt him from beyond could it?

John realised that the man he now recognised as his son was alive and human, only slightly blackened from the soot of the fire and bleeding from the small cut one of the legatus’ rings had made on his cheek from the strong backhand. His son also was bound in metal and thankfully for the Romans, his mouth was covered with a dirty piece of fabric. Shoved to kneel next to his father by an angry and fed-up Roman, Stiles knew better to aggravate his much larger captures.

“Make sure these barbarians are chained properly. It’s a long walk to the slave markets in Rome and we don’t want any wondering off.” The Legatus commanded his men as he walked the line to inspect the prisoners of war that were now destined to be slaves for the betterment of Rome. Not only had be put down a tribe with affiliations with rebellions, but he had also spruced the purse of the Emperor by selling these premium specimens as slaves.

Unable to believe that his proud and strong people were to be reduced to slaves, the Chief bided his time for a distraction that would allow him to free some, if not all, of his people from their chains. Seeing his only son alive had renewed his will to live and his need for his progeny to be safe from the sadistic hands of the Roman Empire. If only they could get away, they would run hard, far and fast from the great reach of the Empire and never look back.

A sudden rush of movement from his left, a woman that he recognised as Aria trying to escape her bonds to reach her crying child, gave him the opportunity that he was waiting for. Snapping the flimsy metal connecting the circlets around his wrists together, Chief John shoved the Roman guard behind him and grabbed his small son by the back of the neck to get him on his feet and moving. Realising his son was weak from fighting against people 3 times his size, he picked the fledgling prince up and carried him to safety. Hearing other people of his tribe follow his lead and break their chains, the Chief ran for the tree line which offered adequate protection and hiding from the pursing Romans.

Setting his son down so that he himself could rest, the Chief could hear the battle resume back in the camp, and hoped that the people remaining where fighting so that the people that made it to the trees could leave. Quickly the following Romans entered the trees and again rounded up the surrendering Celts and incapacitated them again, some much harder than necessary in punishment for running.

“Bring me the head of the Chief!” the Legatus could be heard shouting.

“Go Dad!” Stiles shouted as his little hands tried to push his father further into the surrounding forest and urging him to run to safety. “They want you dead but they won’t kill us. Run and find people to avenge us.” The young boy pleaded of his father, not wanting to see the man he loved and respected being hurt by the cruel Roman invaders.

“I’ll come back for you.” The Chief promised his son and the people that were hiding around them. “You have my word on my honour that l will come with an army and free you from the clutches of Rome.” Melding into the shadows the Chief disappeared into safety. The tribespeople allowed their Chief to leave alone knowing that his escape depended on their sacrifice, knowing that he would return as promised as free not only them but all the slaves in Rome.

The last of the Celtic tribe were rounded up and secured enough to be taken back to Rome to live as slaves. Many years would pass before whisper of a great Chief stirring rebellion against Rome would start, and the 15 year old Stiles knew that he should patiently wait for his father to liberate them all.


	2. A New Life

Like a normal day in Britannia, the rain was pounding on the furred backs of the travelling party and matting the untidy fur of the horses as they trudged through the muck that was normally a well-worn but sturdy main road that led the long way to Londinium in the south. This day however was not a normal day. For 5 year old Stiles, this was the day that almost his entire family and tribe had been murdered or captured for slavery by the Roman contingent that now suffocated the boy with their bawdy laughter, roughhousing, and the look of their heavy and oppressive armour; apparently not bothered by the oppressive rain around them, probably high of the knowledge of the amount of payment for these slaves, the once free people were marched together towards their servitude.

Even a young boy was not saved from the elements or the long trek because even though the tribeswomen and men tried to keep him hidden and protected in the lone covered wagon that kept the food, weapons and ammunition, the Romans made sure that the son of the tribe’s Chief was seen to be as untidy as possible, weak and wounding from walking alongside his family so show the complete domination the Romans had forced upon these Celtic people. Though the Roman century included only 80 men, compared to the scattered and weary numbers of the people they were transporting they could have only numbered half that and still won at this point.

After hours of walking through the rain, after a second attempt of a tribeswoman covering him with her only and now raggedy fur jacket, the massive group finally stopped for the night before making the final leg of the journey into Londinium by late the next night. Stiles tried to get as close to the commander as possible while still being disguised within the crowd to ascertain their destination and why they were going there. though very young, Stiles was born smart from the line of his mother which was only nurtured by the Chief, teaching Stiles from a young age what to do in this situation if the Romans ever came around. Though the young boy had never expected for the Romans to win against their fearsome and strong tribe, Stiles knew that his disadvantage would be having a lack of information for his fate.

“By the looks of them we might get a decent price.” Said the centurion jovially.

“Not as much for those pleasure slaves though, these barbarians have been toiling too long in the fields and have cut each other up too much to be pleasing to the eye. Sleeping with their animals l bet.” A random soldier interjected, most likely wanting to be seen as smart and useful in his legati’s eyes. “But l have heard of the Whittemore family that would pay a high sum of money for the runts to train them for life to be a whore. That way the only thing they know and are especially skilled at is the pleasure business.” 

Looking towards the legati legionis as the tall and imposing Roman man paced the group of shivering captives to assess their future as wares and someone’s property, he finally made a decision when he saw the young tribe Prince looking directly at him with big piercing blue eyes. The legati knew that the news of the his son would reach the Chief eventually, especially if he actively sought to free his offspring and his people, what better way to crush any possible rebellion from anyone in this tribe by having their only heir suck the cock of every man in Rome.

“The children will be going to these Whittemores, especially the young Princeling, the other are for the arena or the salve market. Divide the strong from the weak and see how many of which are needed for the games.” With this final command the legati walked into the tent which had now been set up by a few of the soldiers but paused to study the young boy properly.

Subtly the women and men around their Chief’s heir were trying to block his way and his view of the child but the legati paid them no mind as it was just silly posturing when they were surrounded by his armed and dangerous men; what he wanted to do, he would and could do it with no repercussions.   
Staring at the dishevelled boy for an unknown reason and amount of time, the legati suddenly scoffed, hit the boy across the head and stalked to his tent but stopped to address the centurion who had eagerly followed his senior to see if he needed any further assistance.

“The sooner we get back to Londinium l can return to my command post of the legions and complete my business. My days of being in charge of a century are long past me and I’ll be glad to get these animals where they belong and l free to return my true command.” With these parting words the group left to sleep and rest in the rain saw or heard no more from the Legati until the sun had not even risen in the morning when he sounded the call to continue the march to their destination.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like the day before the rain was heavy and the ground underfoot was slippery. The only solace was a double edged sword; the knowledge that soon they would be in the Roman capitol in Britan and that meant shelter, maybe a bit of food and clothing if they were lucky, but also oppression, servitude and captivity. The stories they had heard growing up about the treatment of prisoners of war and conquered civilisations by the Romans only aggravated the fear and trepidation felt by the captives.

Stiles, however young and innocent he seemed, was not ignorant of his coming fate. He too had heard the stories though his father had tried to shield him, and he knew what a pleasure slave was because of the freedom of expression and displays of sexuality enjoyed throughout his tribe; unlike the Romans, sex in his society was not a tool used for shame or to dominate someone. Either way, Stiles was prepared to shoulder his responsibilities of surviving until his father made his way to Rome and liberated him.

Musing about the events that could soon become an everyday part of his life, to prepare himself by facing this new reality rather than try to block it, a noise of voices and banging suddenly could be heard. Looking around there was nothing to be seen that was able to generate this noise because the people around him were silent in fear and tiredness and there were no machines or buildings in the immediate surroundings, Stiles wondered if the noise was only his imagination and he was slowly going crazy after the events of the last 3 days.

The young boy suddenly realised that the noise must be coming from a tribe or group of people nearby; this must be Londinium. Expecting a small gathering of people, he was surprised to hear as he walked along the noise getting louder and louder, much more than was normal for a decent sized tribe to make even on a festival or training day. The town of Londinium must be a huge and grande place for all these people to live so close together.

Walking on the group of captors and captives continued walking and before long saw the high and encompassing walls that surrounded the majority of the houses that must have made Londinium, the Roman foothold in Britan. Passing through the main city gates the group passed a large group of guards that were checking the identity of people entering the city and the products that they were bringing in. Stiles thought these people to be paranoid and probably had enough enemies to justify this cautious behaviour. The city was alive with business being conducted and people going about their day. The sight of so many unhappy and dirty slaves must have been a normal experience for these citizens though a few men and even fewer women stopped as the party passed to view the wares they knew would be on sale and decided whether they would be attending the markets today, if they really had the need or money for a new slave, and whether this new stock was worth the effort to buy and train.

Coming to a large open square that was filled to the brim with eager buyers with full purses opposite stands filled with slaves on display that was in front even more slaves waiting to be put out on the block for sale. The young Princeling had never seen so many people of different colouring and race, all he wanted to do was talk to the people walking around or being exhibited and ask them about where they were coming from.

“Take the Chief’s son and the other kids to the Whittemore’s and make sure you get a decent price for them. Go to Severus’ ludus and ask what slaves he needs for the arena and what price he’ll pay; if it’s good accept it, if not go to Maximus. The rest with go on the block.” The legati instructed the centurion who then instructed some of his soldiers to do each task. “When you’re done bring the money to me at the lupanare.” With that parting remark the legati turned to disappear into the crowd but Stiles got his last good look at the legati to remember the man that had killed and enslaved his people, just so he knew who to kill when he grew or his father came for him; whichever came first.

A tall man with a decent build though not as muscled or wide as some of the men from his village. His short cropped blonde hair gave the man a rectangular head with a dominant brow and nose, small sunken blue eyes and a straight mouth. Stiles decided that he looked like the most popular men from his tribe and so he must have been attractive however that coldness and indifference seemed to be always be present on his face and in his stance but didn’t diminish his attractiveness. His high widows peak reminded the young boy of spaces for horns, horns in myth that would disappear but leave the space when a monster was in human form; maybe that’s why this man seemed pleased and indifferent to the suffering of the people he had just conquered, killed, and enslaved.

Without a word to the people who were slaves because of him and his men, the legati walks off and melds into the moving flow of free and enslaved people around the group.

A few soldiers dispersed within the closed group of Celtic tribespeople and started to shove them into smaller groups based on where they would be sold. One of the last to be sold, Stiles stared at the unremarkable soldier and dared him to push him. Instead, the young Prince proudly held his head and walked into the group of children he knew was meant to be sold to the Whittemore’s to be taught and raised as a pleasure slave. As he passed his people the closest ones to him gently touched his back in respect and support for his bravery and what he would soon face. He was touched by their actions and again vowed to himself to free as many of them as he could.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Navigating the town of Londinium would have been impossible to someone who hadn’t already travelled the path or if they were a slave that couldn’t ask for directions or read the signs carved into the walls of the buildings. The small group of young children destined to be prostitutes and a few soldiers of the centurion as guides, guards and captors were suddenly surrounded by cleaner and less busy streets surrounded by upmarket shops that displayed precious jewels, items and clothing and wafted delicious smells. The Whittemore’s villa was enclosed by the luxurious houses around it but inside it was obviously unnecessary spacious and grande.

Told to wait in the atrium, Stiles and the other young boys were mesmerised by the pool of water in the open space of the house that held no roof. The fresh water looked cool and relaxing and Stiles wanted so desperately to clean of the mud that was now flaking off his body. The angry short man that briskly walked into the room followed by a pretty young boy stopped Stiles from recklessly diving into the shallow pool, apparently called an impluvium as he listened to two slave girls collect water in tall thin vases from the fountain.

“Welcome to my home, younglings! You will be living here until your 16 birthday when you will sold on again to a loving new dominus or domina, or to a lupanare. Learn and you will be rewarded.” The stout middle-aged man nearly shouted in forced excitement to seem less threatening but what he said next changed that. “Displease me and you will be sent to die by working in the mines.” Walking as quickly as he could out of the room the apparent dominus grabbed a large goblet of wine and started guzzling it at an alarming rate.

The young boy, probably the dominus’ son based on his clothing, well-kept appearance and lack of broken spirit, studied the young boys in front of him with interest. Walking out as arrogantly as his father the boy left the room but Stiles could see the weird and mysterious boy looking in from the other room. 

The young Princeling sighed in exasperation at the weirdness that he would be living with. What was the privileged boy up to?

A slight black man, an obvious slave dressed in copper ankle and wrist shackles, entered the room and explained what would be their daily life and expectations. “You will receive a minimum balanced meal and daily exercises. For the first years you will be taught posture, manners and behaviour. Then you will learn sexual practices. Your teachers are your masters in this house and you will learn to give them respect and follow orders. Save yourselves the pain and do as you’re told.” The man said this as if with personal experience and Stiles decided to stay under the radar to bide time and do as he was told until he could earn his freedom. He would learn and become the best to get the highest price and richest master because maybe this way he could receive the most freedom and leisure time to device and enact an escape plan.

The young boys were led to their sleeping quarters and were told they could take a bath in the fountain with the use of buckets that was on the grounds for the use of servants so that their advisers could assess their beauty and physical body. Stiles relaxed as he accepted his circumstance and he knew he could excel at his task; this was only another avenue of his thirst for knowledge and if he kept it clinical he might be able to escape this trauma unharmed.

It would be many years that Stiles was taught the ways of the boy and the pleasures of the flesh until he would be on the eve of being sold to a buyer and one step closer to attaining his own freedom since his father had not been heard from in many years. It was with a tragedy for the Roman Empire that Stiles life was once again changed drastically.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

Working dictionary:

legati Augusti legionis – legionary commander

legatus Augusti pro praetor – praetor or consul (senator) in charge of a region in the Roman empire and the legions in that area

centurion – leader of the century

ludus – private training house for gladiators

lupanare – translates as “den of she-wolves” and a “she-wolf” was a prostitute (so it’s a brothel)

atrium – opening entry room that was the main centre of the house used for receiving visitors, parties and socialising 

impluvium – the fountain pond that collected rain water from the open roof for drinking and cooling the villa

dominus – male master with citizenship

domina - female master with citizenship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a Roman history university student but even l get stuff wrong and l haven’t completely research everything; all this information is from my head and it might be wrong so if it is and it’s bothering you l can change it. 
> 
> I’m going to skip Stiles’ training in detail because it’s probably inappropriate to detail that of someone so young but it will be recounted in Stiles’ life when he’s older as flashbacks, references or mentions.
> 
> Stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> This story can be made into Alpha/Beta/Omega and/or have mpreg. Comment enough and with your desperate need for these stories and l'll even gift a version of this fic with what you want in it for you.


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